A Hetalian Christmas Carol
by Cardcaptor Ryoko
Summary: Parody, rated to be safe. We all know the story being told here - at least I think we all do. But this one, well, there are some "twists...." if you count a potential for crack, OOC moments and maybe a fourth-wall break or two as "twists." Human names
1. Christmas Eve

A/N:I STILL have no idea whether to put this here or in crossovers... ah well.

Now now, I know what you're thinking here: a Christmas Carol parody? Really? How unoriginal.

I blame one of my co-writers for "A Very Dysfunctional Oz." He told me a few months back "Oh, you should write a Christmas Carol parody with the Hetalia characters!" But in my defense, I do have some different ideas for this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own APH, nor do I own _A Christmas Carol_, nor do I own any other copyrighted item mentioned in this story.

OOC/SCREWUP WARNING: Human names will be used when applicable, and there may be a risk of OOC-ness. Breaking the fourth wall and overall crack is also a possibility.

I need to actually write a multi-chapter fanfic that _isn't_ a parody one of these days.

It was yet another snowy Christmas Eve in London. Smoke rose from chilled chimney stacks as people in their homes lit their fireplaces or furnaces, carolers in their warmest winter coats sang their merry tunes of yuletide cheer, and young boys held on to the back of horse-drawn carriages as they let their feet slide along the ice, laughing and joking all the while. Yes, it was a merry sight indeed. But not everyone was so… "into" the Christmas spirit.

While others were bidding one another a happy Christmas in the streets of London town, Arthur Kirkland sat at his desk, in his office, working as he did every other day of the year. In another part of the room, at a much smaller desk and sitting upon a high stool, sat his rather disagreeable assistant, a Swiss man named Vash Zwingli. Both worked in silence, Vash occasionally glaring bloody daggers at his employer when said employer's eyes were directed elsewhere. Now and again the sound of coins coming in contact with the hard wood of Arthur's desk could be heard as he counted the profits of the past month, but aside from that and the scratching of feather-pens on paper and some background noise leaking in from outside, not another sound was heard. Every day in the seven years since Gilbert had passed on, the same silence usually reigned except in the presence of a client. Back when Gilbert was alive, there was almost never silence. Oh, that's right! I forgot to introduce him.

Gilbert was dead. He was dead from the beginning. That is, if you count seven years before our story takes place as "the beginning." Seven years the Prussian had been dead, yet his and his business partner's firm was still called "Kirkland and Weillschmidt." Why mention this? Well, there has to be _some_ explanation for – never mind, that would be a spoiler, wouldn't it? You'll see later.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur!" A rambunctious, bespectacled blond declared as he burst through the door, shattering the silence between the miser and his assistant.

"Humbug," Arthur replied briefly after taking one short look at his younger brother and returning to work.

"Come on, Arthur," the brother persisted. "When are you going to stop being such a stick in the mud?"

"When you stop acting like a bloody American, _Alfred_." Arthur retorted. Alfred looked quizzically at his elder brother for a moment longer, and then turned his puzzled look to Vash…. To which Vash shrugged, and continued to glare at his paper, then at Arthur, then at his paper, then at Arthur, and so on. Alfred took the hint and turned away from the angry Swiss.

"This isn't about that," Alfred stated. "I just wanted to come here to wish you a merry Christmas."

"Is that all?"

"Well, no," he admitted. "I also wanted to invite you to come to my place for Christmas dinner tomorrow evening. Half the town's going to be there, and I didn't invite Francis this time! I promise!" Arthur released a frustrated sigh at his brother's outrageous proposal.

"What's to be so merry about on Christmas anyway?" he questioned him, hoping to throw Alfred off of his happy train for just a moment.

"Say what?"

"Another day older, none the richer. What's there to be merry about if you haven't anything?"

"But that doesn't matter!" Alfred pointed out. "Christmas is a time of year when you can look beyond yourself and your possessions – or lack thereof," he added quickly, "And appreciate what you do have and what matters most! And it's about sharing that joy with others!"

"I still don't want any part of it," came Arthur's cold reply.

"But –"

"You keep Christmas your way, and I'll keep mine," Arthur sharply cut his brother off, now deliberately looking down at his paperwork to avoid eye contact. "Good afternoon."

"Just listen to me –"

"I SAID, good afternoon!"

"Arthur…" Alfred's countenance fell as his voice dropped with it. Giving one more forlorn glance at his brother, he walked back to the door. "I don't know what's happened to you," he said as he opened the door to leave. "But you weren't always like this. I know you weren't."

And with that, he was gone. The silence that was there before enveloped the room again as though nothing had happened to shake it. Vash glanced at the door, let out a short "hmph" and returned to his normal routine – write something down, glare at Arthur, write something down, glare at Arthur. This, however, only lasted for a space of fifteen minutes before another visitor came barging in. If Arthur believed in prayer, he would have been praying that it was a client and not another merry-maker.

That unspoken prayer was far from answered.

"Happy Christmas, kind sir!" A tall Danish man with blond, disheveled hair came in, a somewhat shorter, apathetic ash-blond teen tailing behind him. The taller one took out a notepad, and still wearing a grin possibly even wider and brighter than Alfred's, turned to address Arthur again. "This Christmas season, there are many of London's needy families who haven't a home to go to. If you would be so generous as to give of your wealth to these poor, we would most sincerely appreciate it!" Before Arthur could even reply, the Dane took out a pen to write something upon the notepad. "How much should we put you down for, Mister… Are you Kirkland or Weillschmidt?"

"What are you doing, you git?!" Arthur growled at him. "I didn't even give you an answer yet!"

"… So you wish to remain anonymous?"

"No, I wish to not give anything at all!" The Dane was dumbfounded.

"Why not?" He asked. The boy behind him looked in Vash's direction, returning the Swiss' cold stare with one of his own.

"Are there no prisons?" Arthur answered coldly. Vash rolled his eyes, not even bothering to make sure Arthur wouldn't see him – he had heard this speech far too many times already, and he hated it every single time.

"Well, uh…" the Dane began to respond hesitantly. "Yeah, there are."

"Are there no workhouses?" He asked.

"If only there weren't," the Dane replied. "But, unfortunately, there are."

"Can the poor you speak of then not find shelter there?" Arthur inquired.

_Dude, this guy must be completely heartless,_ the Dane thought before responding.

"I suppose they could," he finally said. "But… many would rather die than go there." The man's companion nodded, his facial expression however never changing.

"Then let them die," Arthur said, "And reduce the surplus population."

By this time, the do-gooder had put away his notepad and stood speechless before the miserly Englishman. The boy just continued to stare off into space, his expression still as blank and aloof as ever.

"W… We're sorry for bugging you, sir," the Dane replied, his bright attitude replaced with gloom just as Alfred's was minutes before. "Happy Christmas –"

"Good afternoon!" Arthur corrected him.

"Let's go Norway," the Dane whispered to his companion, who nodded again as they both hurried out the door. The ever-present silence returned again, despite the confusion of both parties still present at the visitor's final statement.

"Christmas…" Arthur muttered. "Bah, humbug."

As it would turn out, the time soon came for both he and Vash to close up shop. He looked at his stern assistant as he hurriedly put his work materials away and hopped off of his stool, while Arthur opened the door as he grabbed his own coat and hat.

"I presume you want the whole day off tomorrow?" Arthur asked Vash as the latter approached the coat rack as well.

"Of course. There are important matters I need to attend to."

"Matters more important than your duty as my employee?" Arthur questioned. Little did he know….

"_**That's IT**_!" The Swiss blew up in his face. "I'm sick and tired of you always pushing me around and treating me like my priority should be solely to you – I have a life outside of this establishment, I'll have you know, and it won't be ruled by some selfish miser blinded to anyone else's concerns or needs by his own selfishness!" He threw his coat on faster than one could blink and yanked the door handle from Arthur's hand. The icy look he directed at his soon-to-be-ex-employer carried far more intensity than any of the prior glares ever had.

"Don't bother firing me," he spoke grimly before Arthur could even speak. "I quit." And he slammed the door in his face with such force that not only the door frame, but the whole wall that surrounded the door, shook. Arthur stood there at the door, a little surprised, but soon regained his composure.

"I had a feeling he'd do that eventually," Arthur muttered. "If nothing else, I can visit Toris tomorrow and see if he wants the job still." Toris, he knew, would be much more loyal than Vash in the first place - that is, provided there wasn't the risk of assault at the hands of a certain Russian competitor.

Eventually, Arthur did leave the doorway of his office and walked down the sidewalk to his home, emanating his foul aura everywhere he went. The carolers on the street corner lowered their joyous psalms to soft, muffled, and suspiciously in-tune whispers as he passed by, returning to their normal dynamic level as soon as he left their sight. Most children either snickered and jeered at him as he walked past them, though such were often thrown cold stares to shut them up and send them running. Those who were too timid to insult him stopped what they were doing and gawked at him, the younger ones clinging even tighter to their mothers' skirts as said mothers hurried them along.

"Peter, what are you doing?!" one boy whispered to another, who took a clump of wet snow and began forming it into a ball as Arthur came around the corner opposite them.

"Trust me Raivis, this is going to be hysterical!" Peter reassured his shaking blond friend, lifting the mushy snow in one hand, carefully aiming it for Arthur's head (while hiding behind a wooden barrel that oh-so-conveniently happened to be there), and despite the freezing weather, stuck his tongue out against a corner of his mouth. Arthur was getting closer now. Ever so closer.

"Ready…" Peter mused.

"This can't be good," Raivis muttered, now hiding behind the barrel as well. "This can't be good at all. If he's anything like Mr. Braginski–"

"It's alright; he's not nearly as scary! Aim…"

"I can't look!"

"Nothing's gonna happen, you big sissy! And…"

Arthur was directly parallel to the two boys now.

"**FIRE!**"

_THWACK!_

Yes, you read that right, "thwack." It's an onomatopoeia.

Before Arthur could see what was coming, the left side of his face impacted with a clump of partially melted snow. The Englishman stopped and snapped his head in the direction from which the slushy projectile came.

"WHO DID THAT?!"

"I'm really sorry Peter!" Poor Raivis, too frightened to think sensibly, darted out from behind the barrel and ran like a baby rabbit being pursued by a ravenous wolf. Arthur stormed in the direction from which the boy ran, ignoring him altogether. He leaned over the barrel to see, sure enough, his brother's knave of an apprentice.

"Peter…" Arthur muttered in a voice capable of chasing the vilest of demons from his sight. The boy merely stared at him with his blue eyes, stood up, and threw another snowball point-blank into Arthur's face. The Englishman's face was not red from the cold now, necessarily, but from his utter fury.

"WHAT'RE YOU DOING, UNCLE ARTHUR?!" Peter cried in defiance as his elder pulled at one of his cheeks. "This is bloody child abuse!"

"This is the nineteenth century!" Arthur replied. "There is no concept of child abuse yet! And don't call me Uncle!"

"Still doesn't make it right!"

"I'll show you what's right, you little – " Peter somehow managed to pry Arthur's hand off and was now running in the same direction that Raivis had gone earlier, stopping only once to stick his tongue out at "sir Arthur the Jerk" in his flight.

"The boy has no respect for his elders," Arthur remarked. "Just like his idiot of a master."

Several blocks and down the lane later, Arthur arrived at the front gate of his mansion. On the exterior, the mansion seemed as cold and uninviting as its sole resident – but by no means was it run-down. Arthur saw to it that his housekeeper, Kiku, kept both the outside and the inside of the house in superior condition. The only cruel thing of this was that whatever expenses had to go toward this end were taken out of the poor man's already scanty paycheck. And since Kiku wasn't Christian, Arthur could work him twice as hard as usual on Christmas Day and he wouldn't utter a complaint. Although, that was changing, and he still requested New Year's Day off, but for one who worked like Kiku did, he didn't quite entirely mind giving him that pleasure. … And if push came to shove, he supposed he _would_ grant him Christmas Day off.

He began to fish through his pockets for the key to his gate before he remembered that the lock to that thing had been broken for years – and, just his luck, it turned out when he sent Kiku to fix it that every locksmith in England declared it irreplaceable and beyond repair. Arthur was too cheap, and Kiku not paid enough, to buy a new one. He pushed them open, and shut them again. What's the point of shutting gates that wouldn't lock? Everything in the world if all of the town's thieves assumed it was locked and weren't agile enough to attempt jumping it. Gilbert taught him that one.

The miser walked up the stairway to the large double doors, taking his key to both doors and unlocking them. He reached for the ring of one of the door knobs, normally shaped like a lion's head, to see something rather different – and far more startling - altogether.

"Boo."

"AACK!" Arthur, taken aback, staggered backwards and nearly fell down the stairs again. He could have sworn that replacing the lion's head on the doorknob...

Was Gilbert's.

A/N: dun-dun-DUUN.

Next chapter will (hopefully) include Gilbert's warning and at the very least introduce the Ghost of Christmas Past. When will that chapter be written…? I'll probably start it a few minutes from finishing this one, give or take.

Read and Review! Pointless flames will be used by Gilbert to wreak havoc on the rest of the Hetalia-verse.

Gilbert: speaking of which, why am _I_ the dead guy?! I'm too awesome to die!

…. Just go with it.


	2. The Warning

Disclaimer: Hetalia, don't own. _A Christmas Carol_, also don't own. Anything else that might be copyrighted to someone else… I don't own that either.

OOC/SCREWUP WARNING: see the first chapter.

"Are you alright, Arthur-san?" a short Asian man wearing humble garb suitable for cleaning in opened the door from the inside.

"It was nothing, but thank you," Arthur explained, propping himself back onto his feet and quickly dusting his coat before walking into the house past the man. _I must have been seeing things. _"Is dinner ready?" He asked, placing his coat and hat on the coat rack beside the door.

"Hai," the other man replied. "Tonight I made your favorite beef stew with an added ingredient some relatives sent me from my homeland, if that's alright with you."

"As long as it's not raw fish," Arthur remarked, "It's alright with me. You always did make a good beef stew. Send it upstairs to my bedroom, if you would Kiku."

"Of course, Sir." Kiku replied with a short bow as he hurried back to the kitchen, while Arthur made his way up the longer, more elaborate staircase leading to the second floor.

He opened the first door to the right of the stairs and entered the room beyond it. Located therein was a fireplace on the wall to the right, two armchairs near it on opposite sides of one another (but neither of them entirely facing the fireplace, strangely enough), a small table, and on the left wall, a large canopy-style bed with the curtains drawn closed. At the wall directly parallel to the door sat a window revealing the houses and apartments on the other side of the street. Seeing that Kiku had placed fresh firewood in the hearth, Arthur lit a match, threw it in, and seated himself in the armchair farthest from the door while watching the fire roar to life. He stared at the scene with apathy, his green eyes shining like emeralds as they reflected the firelight. If only the heat emanating from the flames could thaw his scarred, frozen heart in the way that it warmed his body now.

_Knock Knock_

"Come in, Kiku," Arthur stated, turning his attention now to the door. The round door knob twisted and Kiku entered with a tray in one hand, upon which was a bowl of piping hot stew, a spoon, and a glass of milk. "Just set it on the table," Arthur directed, and Kiku wordlessly obeyed, bowed, and left with an "Enjoy your meal, Arthur-san." Arthur picked up his spoon and, after gently blowing on the contents and waiting a little longer for it to cool, ate a spoonful of the stew. … And nearly gagged from the burning sensation. _Still too hot_, he thought, resisting the urge to curse at it.

"_Still a wimp as always, ey Arthur?"_

"Did you say something, Kiku?" Arthur asked, tentatively taking a sip of some of his milk to wash down whatever of the hot stew remained.

"_Oh, come ON," _the soft, eery voice came again. "_You ought to know the awesome me better than that!"_

"_cheep cheep!" _Arthur took another sip of the milk to make sure Kiku hadn't given him egg nog by mistake. Though if he did, it was too late to tell now.

Before he could even get up to check with him, numerous transparent weights linked to long chains came flying into the room surrounding the arm chair. The Englishman flinched with each one that came, as they all crashed to the ground with the same force as if they were solid and weighed two tons. That and they always seemed to be hurling towards him at first before landing somewhere _away_ from the armchair. When the chorus of _THUNK_s ended, an albino man wearing an overtly elaborate Prussian military uniform – the outfit looking a bit worse for wear, might I add – walked through the wall, revealing to whom the weights were shackled, and sat down in the other armchair. Flitting behind him, a small bird landed upon the man's head. The difference between the two was that the bird had no chains.

"… Gilbert Weillschmidt?" Arthur uttered half-heartedly. If the milk wasn't egg nog, Kiku's extra ingredient in the stew was some seriously strong sake.

"The one and only,"the dead Prussian responded with a toothy grin. The bird on his head cheeped angrily at him. "Oh, and Gilbird the Awesome; he's here too."The bird closed its eyes and cheeped with satisfaction. "Little guy never left me, even in death. That's why I gave him a title to go with his name."

"… You still have your bird?"

"Well yeah. Who else do you think would sit on my head like this, West?"

"Ludwig's still alive, you dolt."

"_Exactly!" _'Gilbird the Awesome' cheeped in agreement with his master. All was silent for a moment, and Gilbert blinked. "… You don't believe we're really here, do you?"

"While it's possible you are," Arthur admitted, "For all I know you might be a bad piece of beef in this stew. Or Kiku could've spiked it with sake – or heck, this milk might be eggnog!" Though one might think he would be insulted, Gilbert's eyes lit up at the sight of the aforementioned stew.

"Holy crap, Kiku made his beef stew?! No freakin' fair, hand over some!"

"Oh no," Arthur corrected, "You're _dead_ now! You can't eat anymore, so you can't mooch off of _my_ housekeeper's cooking!" The living of the two men took another bite of the stew and, despite it still being a tad warm, made a tremendous effort to feign enjoyment and swallowed it as slowly as he could without burning his tongue or mouth. By the time all of the broth was down his throat, all that was left was a slice of beef, which he pretended to savor despite the fact that the flavor had gone down with the rest of the broth. When all of it was finally consumed, he smirked in smug satisfaction. The way they were fighting, it almost seemed, for a moment, that Arthur's rival-gone-colleague had never died.

"You're evil," Gilbert stated bluntly, Gilbird the Awesome imitating a stomach growl on his friend's behalf.

"Speak for yourself, with all those chains and fetters," Arthur pointed out, stifling a scoff.

"Funny, since at the rate you're going you'll have a matching set." This time it was Gilbert who had the last laugh.

Arthur froze. Something about the Prussian's words this time around indicated that such was no joke.

"B… but… Come now, I was joking!" Arthur stated nervously, sounding as if he were about to go into a fit of insane laughter. "I mean, sure you were a pain in the butt when you were alive, and you still prove to be now, but you had _some_ good points! I mean, if Elizveta had chosen you instead of Roderich you would've been an amazing husband to her!"

"Loyalty to loved ones matters little when the rest of your life is spent being a selfish jerk,"the Prussian retorted. "Besides, I doubt _anyone_ would have the guts to cross her." He snickered. "Especially not that prissy little Austrian."

"So, your point…?" Arthur questioned. To this, Gilbert rested his head on one hand and held up the other with three fingers extended.

"You'll be visited by three spirits tonight: one at midnight, the second an hour later, and the third an hour after that. What they show or tell you is your last warning." The Prussian now looked strangely serious, holding one of his chains up and releasing it, letting it drop to the ground. "Unless you want to wind up like me, I'd listen to them." Gilbert then stood up, shifting the weights a little with his movement. "Well, good to see ya. And if you see Elizveta anytime soon, tell her…" Gilbert paused and raised his head, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Tell her what?"

"… Never mind, it's nothing. She'd just whack at the air with her frying pan if she knew." The Prussian spirit chuckled to himself as he proceeded to lift each weight and lift them out the window, one by one, and soon was dragged out with them. Poor Gilbird the Awesome had to let go and fly back down after him again.

"See you in the afterlife!" He called as he left Arthur's earshot.

"Well that was certainly strange," Arthur remarked before another knock came to the door. Considering Gilbert had floated through the wall before, he assumed it to be Kiku and made a verbal signal to permit entry.

"Is anything the matter?" Kiku asked as he opened the door. "I thought I heard you speaking to someone, but we're the only ones here…"

"Well that depends," Arthur answered, taking Kiku's response to mean that only he could have heard his deceased colleague's conversation. "Are you sure this is milk?"

"Of course," Kiku replied. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"That's right, neither of us drink eggnog," Arthur muttered to himself, but continued his probing. "Then is there any sake in the stew?"

"No," Kiku replied. "You've told me in the past that you don't like sake."

"Does that added ingredient you put in contain any alcohol of any kind?"

"No…" Kiku replied slowly. "Arthur-san, are you positive you're alright?"

"Yes, Kiku, it's just… I don't know, it's nothing I suppose," Arthur shrugged it off. "Must've had a waking dream."

"Well then," Kiku replied, "If nothing else is the matter, then I'll return in a few minutes to collect your dishes."

"Thank you," Arthur finished as Kiku left the room. The Englishman sat back down and continued with his dinner. Finally the stew had cooled to a suitable eating temperature.

A few hours and a bowl of stew later, Arthur was in his pajamas (because I'm not sure whether or not to call it a nightgown) and cap. The curtains of his bed canopy were still drawn, but this time he was on the inside of the curtains rather than out. Inside, tucked beneath the blankets, and at least attempting to sleep peacefully. The events of earlier that evening, or rather his mind trying to figure out how it could have all happened, was not so apt to allow him such pleasantries. If it wasn't induced by alcohol, then what could it have been? The rotten-food theory, now that Arthur thought about it, was impossible – Kiku had an incredible tendency to make sure that every food item in the house was used quickly before it came even close to going bad; and despite his small pay check, still made an effort to purchase the highest quality budget would allow. The result was that there was seldom anything available for spontaneous snacking, but Arthur was barely ever home anyway except on Sundays. And the less there is in a house, the less incentive there is for thieves. Waking dreams…? Arthur wasn't known to have those. Ruling those possibilities out, then, only the last option… the option he didn't want to consider, was that his little vision was real.

And if that vision was real… he sat up and lifted the curtain just enough to glance at his clock on the wall. Nine o'clock at night. That meant he had three more hours to sleep. If even that long. But sure enough, a few minutes passed and Arthur was in dream land.

If only that notion of sleep lasted for more than just a blink of an eye.

"_Arthur…"_

"Just another moment Kiku…" Arthur muttered in his sleep as he rolled over on his side.

"_Arthur…!"_

"Really now, what is it?" he asked, eyes still closed.

"_You have to be kidding me…_" the voice muttered as its source sat on the bed – not that Arthur would have noticed anyway, seeing as in this instance, he was transparent. "_Guess I have to pull out _that…"

Arthur snored too softly for anyone to really hear – but of course our spirit friend could hear it, seeing as spirits can hear virtually anything.

"_SIR ARTHUR THE JERK, WAKE UP!"_

"Who on Earth – " Arthur sat up in his bed now and looked in the direction of the perpetrator… and froze. And got even angrier. "PETER, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING IN _MY HOUSE_, in _MY ROOM?!_"

"The fanfic's author placed me here, that's why," the apparition replied, whom Arthur had pointed out looked exactly like Peter. "And I MUST be a country now with the role I have – I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past!"

A/N: aaand CUT! Sorry about the fourth-wall moment folks.

Probably one of the worst places to end this chapter, but I felt if I had ended it at Gilbo's visit that it would've been too short compared to chapter one. And heck, even this is about a page shorter than that one… but what can be done? After all, the other chapters will probably be even longer if I try to give each visitation its own chapter.

Until next time, read and review~!

Peter: and acknowledge Sealand as a country!


	3. Christmas Past With Sealand!

A/N: by semi-popular demand (would two positive reviews and an alert count as popular? XD), I come bearing chapter three! Iggy's past revealed!

Peter: by Sealand!

… Yes, by Sealand.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, nor do I own A Christmas Carol

OOC/SCREWUP WARNING: see chapter 1. Also, there is an increased risk of 4th-wall breaking, and some degree of portraying Francis in a negative light. You have been warned. Oh! And Old Fritz is in this chapter… if I fail in portraying him (though he appears only briefly), I apologize.

"The Ghost of Christmas Past…?" Arthur questioned the Peter look-alike… who when further called by name will just be called "Peter."

"Yep!" The ghost replied. "Your friend told you we were coming, right?"

"He didn't give specifics," Arthur grumbled.

"Well alright then," the ghost replied. "Let's see, where should we go first…?" The ghost sat in thought for a moment. "Oh, duh! We've gotta go to your childhood Christmas experiences!" He grabbed Arthur's hand - though how he was able to do so baffled Arthur to no end - and the two flew Peter-Pan-style out of the window and through the night sky of that London Christmas eve. After a good deal of screaming from the sheer shock factor, Arthur began to take notice of his surroundings slowly changing. Frozen streets and sidewalks became fields of snow, and buildings became dead or dying trees; horses and carriages became deer and the occasional toboggan sled manned by a group of children from a nearby town. As the pair passed Big Ben, the night fully change to day, and the rest of London town was replaced by a moderately sized village. They stood now on a hill just within sight of the village, and Arthur's fear became fascinated bewilderment as he took in the sight before him – the village, the trees, the brisk cold, the soft crunch of fresh snow beneath his feet.

"… Is this what I think it is?" Arthur whispered, the question mainly directed at himself than at the spirit.

"If you think it's your hometown, then yes," the spirit replied. "But dang, that place is _tiny_ – " Arthur then took advantage of the fact that he could actually touch the spirit to bop him over the head.

"Oww! What was that for?!" The boy now had a small lump protruding from his head.

"How would you feel if I said the place where you were born and raised was small?" Arthur stated.

"Depends on if you're talking about in this story or in canon." He got up and dusted off the snow. "But anyway, just so you know these visions are purely flashbacks. The people you see here have no consciousness of us, so we can't affect anything that happens."

"I sort of figured that," Arthur replied. Peter shrugged.

"Eh, I'm just mentioning it so you know. I mean, there's some pretty bad memories up ahead… I know if that were my past I'd want to try and change it. Now come on!" Peter took Arthur's hand again and dragged him into the village, on foot, and didn't stop until they reached a classroom in an old schoolhouse. The classroom was empty, save it be for one lone, blond-haired boy, no older than ten, sitting underneath one of the desks. All was quiet save for the boy's soft sobbing, his tears, though, unseen as they froze upon his soiled face.

Arthur's heart sank, remembering the emotions that boy felt – which at one time, he felt.

An older boy of about fifteen, followed by two other boys closer to the age of the mini-Arthur, opened the door to the classroom just a crack to peek at their forlorn victim.

"Do you think we went too far?" One boy, a brunet, commented as they looked on at the scene.

"Non, not at all~" The eldest replied, flipping his long(er) blond locks out of his face. "After all, it's only Arthur." The third boy, a much younger Gilbert, laughed along with the blond French boy. The brunet eventually started laughing with them, though not nearly as heartily as the others.

… _WHY_ had he opened a business with Gilbert again?!

"Wait," Peter reminded him, "There's more."

"Arthur!" a small voice called from the hallway beyond the door. The three older boys were pushed away by a boy younger than them all – he might have been only five – as he ran into the room to his brother's side. "Lovino told me about what Francis was going to do and – " young Arthur growled and turned away, wiping away the frozen tears and bits of figgy pudding from his face and hair. The younger boy looked on sympathetically and snapped back with a menacing glare at the three boys. Boy-Arthur glanced at his brother again, smiled, and patted the small boy on the head, bringing his attention back to him.

"It's alright Alfred," boy-Arthur reassured the toddler, a maniacal grin beginning to form on his face. "We'll get them back next Christmas…."

"Arthur, you're scaring me!" mini-Alfred whimpered in slight concern.

"Oh, sorry about that," boy-Arthur replied. The two of them laughed before the elder stood up and walked with his brother to the door. By this time, the trio had fled.

Back with grown-Arthur and Peter, the former sighed and smiled fondly.

"Ah yes," he recalled. "Alfred was such a good boy back then. He always was like that, watching out for me whenever Francis and his gang tried to do anything." A short laugh followed.

"Question," Peter began, about to reiterate the same thought Arthur had before. "If Gilbert was so mean to you as a kid, why the heck did you start a business with him?"

"You know what," Arthur replied. "I don't really know. Grown-ups are strange like that."

"… Okay, your being not a jerk is getting kind of creepy," Peter remarked. "By the way, whatever was it that drove you and Alfred apart?"

"Well, Peter," Arthur began, but paused and never finished. "Never mind, it's none of your business."

"Yay, Sir Arthur the Jerk is back!" Peter declared, though he knew this couldn't mean much good for him. "Time to fast-forward!" The scene transformed again, from a schoolhouse in Arthur's childhood home to the house of his and Gilbert's first employer and teacher in all things business. His real name was lost to Arthur's memory, for he and Gilbert both knew the man as Old Fritz.

The main hall was full of merrymakers as they danced the night away that Christmas Eve. The party-goers came from all walks of life, rich and poor, male and female, old and young; they even had a small corner for the younger children to socialize and enjoy the refreshments, where a thirteen-year-old Alfred could be spotted. A live band played favorite dance tunes of the day. The candles lining each wall were lit, and tinsel of red and green were hung within safe distance from the flames. In the center of the farthest wall, at the end of the room hung a giant wreath decorated with orbs of numerous "festive" colors – red, gold, silver, and green of course; and the finishing touch, placed oh-so-neatly at the top: a large red velveteen bow.

"How could I have forgotten?" Arthur asked himself again as he looked on with as much joy and laughing as all of the people there – were they anywhere else, one would describe his countenance as that of a child in a candy store. "Why, that's Old Fritz himself over there!" He pointed to an older man laughing and drinking with some of the older guests. "And Roderich, conducting the band! He really hasn't changed since then at all!" Arthur continued in his gleeful reverie until his eyes fell upon a certain sight – and his mind recalled an event he would still rather forget. "…You've GOT to be kidding me," he turned away from Peter to hide the resulting blush from his embarrassment.

"What?" Peter asked. "This shouldn't be that embarrassing – heck, this is one of your happier Christmas memories!" He pointed to another past-Arthur, standing in a group with Gilbert and the brunet from the previous trio, whom it was revealed was named Antonio. They were older than in the first vision, but still not quite considered adults; eighteen at the oldest, possibly even nineteen…. Okay, Antonio may have been pushing for twenty. The latter nudged Arthur in the side and pointed toward a member of the distant crowd. Both Arthurs, past and present, looked in the direction in which he was pointing – might I point out that present-day Arthur was still blushing like heck?

A girl, a few years younger than the boys, but still of a marriageable age, stood out from the rest – if not by her slightly darker complexion and chocolate brown eyes, it was the large red ribbons in her near-black brown hair, which was parted into two pigtails. Her blue dress, with white frilly lace at the end of the sleeves otherwise was the same as what all the other girls wore in those days. But somehow, it just made her stand out all the more. The only unpleasant sight was Francis's arm around her waist, and the resulting expression of discomfort on her part.

"Francis…" both Arthurs growled, almost simultaneously. Peter looked on, wondering if the blond Frenchman would be mucking things up in the next memory too.

"Erm…" Antonio stammered. "I honestly didn't see Francis there, really!" He turned to past-Arthur, who was gripping his glass of cider so tightly that were it plastic, cider would have flown everywhere. His eyes stared unwavering into those of the Frenchman, who was far too preoccupied flirting with the beauty that had caused this whole mess.

"So long as he leaves Liz alone, who cares what he does?" Gilbert scoffed, glancing for a moment at a green-eyed woman with lighter brown hair.

Not too long after, another more willing woman caught Francis's attention, and he was gone. The maiden was alone once more, and sighed in relief.

"Well that was rather anti-climatic," Antonio stated. "But as I was saying, maybe you should go talk to her."

"Yeah," Gilbert replied. "A girlfriend would be good for you."

"Says the one who's gonna lose out to Roderich," present-Arthur scoffed.

"Speaking of which, shouldn't you be with yours?" both past-Arthur and Antonio pointed out. Right on cue, the woman Gilbert had looked at earlier was glaring in his direction.

"… Crap." And with that, the albino left past-Arthur and the Spaniard to their own devices.

"Seriously, go for it!" Antonio said to past-Arthur.

"I can't do that! I'm terrible at talking to girls!"

"Doesn't matter!" Antonio walked behind past-Arthur and pushed him in the girl's direction. The two now stood face to face, her eyes looking into his.

Past-Arthur glanced away and tugged at his tie a little bit as his face turned a bright pink. The girl looked at him inquisitively. Gilbert could be heard laughing elsewhere in the room, followed by the metal "_clank!"_ of a frying pan impacting with his head. Antonio facepalmed.

Gilbert's "girlfriend" observed the situation and walked up to the young conductor – leaving Gilbert still unconscious on the floor – and tapped him on the shoulder. Without missing a beat, he turned his head to face her, after which she whispered something in his ear. The conductor nodded a few times, all the while never stopping the music… until after the woman had withdrawn. But even then, it was only for a moment. Replacing the fast-paced music being played before, the band began to play a moderate yet flowing waltz.

"So _that's_ why –" Peter interrupted present-Arthur's realization with a hand over his mouth and pointed with the other to what he really should be focusing on. Past-Arthur was startled out of his position and looked at the girl frantically. The latter had extended her hand to him and smiled. Past-Arthur nervously smiled back and took her hand, put the other in the correct position, and commenced their first dance.

Both Antonio and the green-eyed woman smiled, pleased with their matchmaking efforts. Even Old Fritz noticed, as he looked on in pleasant surprise.

"I see Arthur's met Seychelles," he remarked. Gilbert finally regained consciousness and sat up, giving a questioning look towards his mentor.

"Who?" Gilbert asked.

Meanwhile, present-Arthur's head was in the clouds again, remembering what, sadly, he had lost. Peter had long removed the hand-gag, but was growing a little irritated – and short on time, he realized as he looked at his watch.

"Hello-o~" Peter now waved a hand back and forth in front of his face. "Earth to Sir Arthur the Jerk! There's one more stop we have to make!"

The music ceased immediately. The room had become dark and now turned into Arthur's office. It was just five years after the previous events, and he and Seychelles were alone. Gilbert had gone home early that day, and Vash had yet to be hired on. Present-Arthur looked around him; Peter's candle, which he conveniently pulled out of nowhere, was the only source of light betwixt the two of them just as the light filtering in from the window was the only illumination for the couple soon not to be.

Past-Arthur stood behind his desk, hands on the table as if he had previously slammed them there. His face was tense, and despite only being twenty-three, right then he looked closer to thirty-five – not in a good way. Seychelles donned a grim expression to oppose her husband's haggard look.

"You heard me, Arthur," she stated. "I release you."

"But –" Past-Arthur protested, only to be stopped by Seychelles raising her hand to silence him.

"You don't love me anymore," she continued. "You would rather be with your riches than even come home to any wife, much less me."

"Riches?!" Past-Arthur exclaimed. "I've worked so hard to build up this business so that we can have a better life together! All of this," he stretched one arm out to demonstrate that he was referring to the office, "Is for you!"

"Is it?" She replied. "When we made this contract together – when we married – we were both poor and content to remain as such."

"It's only been three years!" past-Arthur protested again. "I'm still myself!" Seychelles shook her head.

"In those three years," she stated, "I have seen the Arthur I knew – the Arthur I fell in love with – disappear altogether. All that remains is a creature of greed." Past-Arthur opened his mouth to deny this, but she cut him off and continued. "If you were as 'financially conscious' then as you are now, would you have married a woman with no dowry, as I was?" There came no reply. "I thought so. Therefore, I release you. You need no longer be burdened by me." She took a folded sheet of paper from her coat pocket and placed it on the table. By the time past-Arthur had finished reading it, tears welling up as he did so, Seychelles had left the building.

It was a certificate of divorce. With his signature forged.

He could have gone after her, could have begged her not to go… or, he could have sued her for forgery. He should have, as his present counterpart observed. But he was not willing to do the latter, and knew she wouldn't listen if he attempted the former. The only thing left for Arthur to do, past and present, was to cry bitter tears. For present-Arthur, such mourning quickly began to grow bitter.

"Take me from this place!" he quietly instructed Peter. The spirit obliged silently, and Arthur was again alone, in his bed.

The clock struck one.

A/N: Aaaand cut! You get to see who the Ghost of Christmas Present is next chapter! :P Hopefully I can get that one rolled out faster than I did this one, but since I have college finals in two weeks, no guarantee. In the meantime, happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it!


	4. Christmas Present

A/N: Not too sure how soon this will be done… but I figure there's no better time to start the next chapter when I have the most time to do it, being Thanksgiving break and all.

Also, I must warn you this may not be the best chapter I've written for this fic thus far. And it is one of the longer chapters…

Disclaimer: I still do not own Hetalia or A Christmas Carol

OOC/SCRWEUP WARNING: see chapter one.

Arthur stood up and looked around the bedroom. No sign of Peter anymore… but the clock had struck one. Where then was the second spirit? Under the bed? He looked there briefly, but quickly dismissed the thought – why would a spirit hide underneath a bed? Out the window? No luck there either. Just a bunch of snow with some of the usual London smog. In the fireplace…?

Why would he/she/whatever-it-is be in the _fireplace?!_ And from the looks of it, there was nothing there. Some oddly human-like sounds coming from that direction, however, piqued his curiosity – but at the same time struck fear in his heart. He slowly approached the fireplace, grabbing one of the metal prods just in case it was a robber. And he waited. And waited. Minutes seemed to pass, and nothing still happened. Arthur tentatively poked his head into the hearth and looked up into the chimney.

Were the perpetrator sliding booty-first down said chimney not transparent, Arthur's timing couldn't have been any worse. But not only was there the transparency factor to be thankful for, but also that Arthur was quick enough to get out of the way.

THUNK!

How could a sound occur from a spirit impacting with ground? Because I said so.

Arthur couldn't be sure if this was the next spirit or not, for the outfit that the young man wore was red with white trimmings all over, and he carried a large burlap sack. A little white dog trotted out from behind the stranger and shook the soot off of its fur. Other than his outfit, the perpetrator's blue-violet eyes and ash blond hair were the only things distinguishing the stranger from any sort of thief.

"Let me guess," Arthur started. "You're –"

"The Ghost of Christmas Present; that's my formal title, anyway," the spirit replied. "But you can call me Tino." The dog barked and scratched behind one of its ears. "And the dog is Hana Tamago."

"Hana –what?!"

"Hana Tamago. Isn't it a cute name?" Tino asked with a smile.

"Uh…"

"Never mind," the spirit said, growing more serious – he was calm and kind about it, but serious. "That's not what's important. I've only got an hour, and there are some things I need to show you." He motioned for Arthur to follow him through the… fireplace? But Arthur obliged no less, taking on a transparent form as he took Tino's hand and they went through the fireplace into the main foyer of Alfred's home. Beyond a set of doors on one side of the room was the living room; another on the opposite side, the dining room. Tino pointed to the doors on the left – the living room; and led Arthur through that door, Hana Tamago closely following. In the room, just as Alfred had said, nearly all of the brothers' acquaintances were there, Gilbert's younger brother Ludwig included. They were all gathered around the room, most of them sitting on the various couches and sofas, and Alfred was in the middle.

"The center of attention, of course," Arthur griped.

"Just listen," Tino said. Arthur figured he may as well comply, much as he rather would not. As the party continued on, it became apparent they were playing a game while waiting for dinner to be prepared. In fact, it was a game that Arthur played with his brother very often when they were children. Unlike in the past, however, Alfred was taking the lead instead of his elder brother (though of course, the latter was not present at all).

The guessing game.

"Ve, ve, is it pasta?" One young man blurted out, waving his hand enthusiastically to gain Alfred's attention.

"No," Alfred replied. "Pasta isn't a living thing."

"Pay attention to the clues already given," Ludwig reminded him.

"Does it live in London?" Another member of the party, a slight Asian woman, suggested.

"Yep!" Alfred answered. "Right on the money, Taiwan!"

"That's not her name…" a young raven-haired man seated next to her muttered.

"It's alright, really," she replied on her companion's behalf.

"Is it a dog aru?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that…" Alfred noted, his voice falling, but immediately rising again. "Next guess!"

"Is it an animal to begin with?" A man resembling Alfred asked quietly.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

The man waved an arm in the air in an attempt to gain his attention. Alfred seemed oblivious and moved on.

"Well to whoever said that goes one point! It's not!" Alfred declared, his look-alike smiling a little bit to himself. "Anyone else?"

"Is it a human being?" Ludwig asked.

"Well…" Alfred paused. "Some of you might say it isn't."

"Man or woman?" Antonio finally made himself known to the crowd.

"Living or dead aru?" the same man who had posed the dog question asked.

"Man - and yes Yao, he's alive," Alfred responded to both questions.

"I guess that rules out your brother then," the pasta-man from earlier commented to Ludwig.

"Ooh! Close, Feli! Very close!" Alfred exclaimed.

"You just gave it away," a young man resembling "Feli" and seated between him and Antonio remarked. "It's your stingy brother Arthur isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, you got me Lovino," Alfred admitted sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.

"By the way," Taiwan spoke up, "Why didn't he come? You invited him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did," Alfred remarked. "But he refused, as always…" His spirits raised again. "Well what are we waiting for? Let's get in there and pig out on some turkey!" The guests all agreed as they left the room and crowded into the dining room.

"That git!" Arthur blurted. "Why did he say some of them might not consider me human?!" Tino sighed.

"Not to be impolite," he said, "But it would seem your attitude could lead some to believe that."

"What? Just because I have some degree of sense around here?"

"They wouldn't call it that," Tino replied. Hana Tamago barked in agreement.

"Really now?"

"I guess we need to go to another part of town." Tino took Arthur by the hand again and the two walked out of the house, back into Arthur's fireplace, and this time down through the hearthstone to a small, wood-frame house. There was little more there, really, than a table with four chairs, some cooking equipment, including an oven, and then the stairway leading to the second floor. Tino and Arthur sat at the top of the staircase, at the end of the narrow second-floor hallway. Arthur turned around to see but two doors leading to two bedrooms – the only thing that was on the second floor, really, apart from the hallway.

"Who lives in this shack?" Arthur muttered.

"Mister Kirkland!" Tino replied with concern. The front door on the first floor could be heard opening. They both turned from one another to see who had entered. A man with blond hair down to about his chin closed the door behind him, looking around the room with eyes just as green as Arthur's. Much to the latter's surprise, the one living in "this shack" was Vash.

He appeared confused as his eyes scanned his surroundings; something that Arthur never knew the Swiss to be capable of. Soon, confusion slowly built up to concern, then near to anxiety as he proceeded to pace across the perimeter of the room. He eventually ran up the stairs and opened the first door. Empty, save it be for the bed and nightstand. Vash cursed under his breath and ran back down the stairs. Finally he saw something that not even Arthur had noticed at first glance.

There was a note on the table. Vash picked it up and read it. He folded it up, stuffed it in his coat pocket, and with the frustrated groan that Arthur knew all too well, ran out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

"… What was that all about?" Arthur thought aloud. He never recalled Vash mentioning that he had any family in England.

"Let's follow him and find out, shall we?" " Tino suggested – though that suggestion, of course, was more an order.

Now the two – okay, okay, three if you count Hana Tamago… sorry for forgetting him for a while. Anyway, they were now in a house that in quality was somewhere between Vash's and Alfred's – it was an improvement from the former, in that it had a separate living room and kitchen - and more than one window, for that matter; but the dining room, kitchen and living room were each only separated by a wall and an empty door frame. But there was more – the mood was different. It was brighter, warmer, than it ever was in Arthur's cold, lonely manor. A knock came at the door, and a woman with long, wavy brown hair came running out of the kitchen to answer it. Vash stood there, wearing an expression of moderate annoyance. The woman smiled and greeted the man.

"I take it you got your sister's letter?"

"Yes," Vash replied. "She could have at least waited until I had gotten home."

"Brother!" A feminine voice squeaked in surprise, as the young woman to whom it belonged made her way to the door. Vash gave the girl a brief condemning look before such gave way to relief and a short-winded lecture.

"You know you shouldn't be running around in this weather," he sighed. "What about your health?"

"In her defense, I came to pick her up in a horse-drawn carriage," a dark-haired man with dark blue eyes and a mole near his mouth remarked as he, too, joined the crowd by the door.

"You're the last person I want to hear that from, Roderich," came Vash's cold reply.

"Who do you take me for, Gilbert?" As though on cue, Elizveta reached for a frying pan hung up near the door with a dangerous glint in her eye. It didn't take Vash very long to get the hint. With a satisfied smirk, Elizveta put up the frying pan once more. The girl looked on with mixed awe and admiration.

"Now then," Elizveta stated, having gained everyone's attention. "If you would both seat your bottoms in their appropriate positions at the table, then Liechtenstein and I will proceed to bring out the Christmas dinner." Knowing better than to question his wife when she was in "shut-up-I'm-in-charge" mode, Roderich pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down, as Vash took a seat on his left-hand side – so as to stay in between Roderich and where his sister would sit, of course. Liechtenstein followed Elizveta into the kitchen, and within moments the latter was carrying a small pitcher of gravy and a plate of cranberry sauce behind the Hungarian, who had a moderately sized cooked chicken.

"… Is that a chicken?" Arthur questioned.

"Turkey isn't cheap," came Tino's response.

"But Roderich and Elizveta seem rather well off, surely enough to have a proper Christmas dinner."

"Just watch, please."

Elizveta placed the chicken at the center of the table, and Liechtenstein set the gravy and the cranberry sauce on each side of the platter. This process of bringing out food was repeated until the whole meal was set before them… though the only items other than the chicken were a large bowl of stuffing, a pitcher of homemade cider and some dinner rolls. Again, Liechtenstein carried the lighter of the three items. Vash looked at the meal, then at his sister, than at the meal, and allowed his lip to curve ever so slightly upward in a smile. He couldn't lie, they did well. Once all was set in order and each of them had cider in their glasses, the women seated themselves – Elizveta to her husband's right, and Liechtenstein next to her brother.

"Liechtenstein," Elizveta started, "Would you offer a blessing over the meal?" Liechtenstein nodded and bowed her head in prayer, the other three following suit.

"Our Father in Heaven," she began, "We thank Thee for the opportunity to gather together this day and celebrate the birth of Thy Son with our friends, and we ask of Thee Thy blessing over this small feast set before us. We ask Thee to bless those of us who are not as fortunate this Christmas Season, and ask Thee also to bless Mister Kirkland for letting my brother work for him, and for giving him Christmas off. Amen." The other three repeated the amen, though Vash did so reluctantly, and each person began to take portions of food. The meal continued as normal – well, normal for the two families gathered together, anyway.

"By the way, speaking of Mr. Kirkland…" Vash finally spoke up in between mouthfuls of chicken, looking directly at his sister. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What would that be?" Liechtenstein asked.

"I…." Vash trailed off.

"Hm?"

"I..." _Guess there's no nice way to put this,_ Vash thought to himself. "I quit my job at Kirkland and Weillschmidt." Roderich gave a knowing look, having figured it would happen eventually. Elizveta was silent, but knew not whether to reach for the frying pan or not. Liechtenstein only wanted to know why.

"I know, this doesn't help much at all with the cost of your medicine going up," he explained, still looking Liechtenstein in the eye. "And I'll try to go down and collect a final paycheck tomorrow." Immediately Vash turned to Roderich. "But regardless, I don't intend to live off of your charity. I'll find a new job soon enough."

"But Brother," Liechtenstein persisted. "Why did you quit to begin with?" Vash sighed. How could he explain something like this to his sister?

"Because Mr. Kirkland is not exactly the most pleasant person to work with."

"Well he can't be all that bad," she replied calmly. "He chose you for the position even though Mr. Lorinaitis was probably more willing to work holidays." Vash didn't continue the conversation and continued to eat the chicken on his plate. He knew her point was valid – and it was just like her to view the glass as half full. He just wasn't willing to accept it, nor would he express any more of his contempt toward his only living kin.

"But if he hired Toris he would've had to face Ivan's wrath," Elizveta commented in joking, though that statement was true also. "And speaking of which, if you'll excuse me dear," Roderich nodded as Elizveta walked out into the living room and came back with a small purse of change. "I know it still won't be enough for the medicine," she began, presenting the purse to Vash, "But in addition to Roderich's extra earnings from offering piano lessons, we decided to buy a chicken this year instead of turkey so we could contribute more." Vash opened up the purse by the draw strings and examined the sum inside. He closed it again and attempted to hand it back.

"I told you," he reiterated in irritation, "Unless we absolutely need it, don't go out of your way."

"No really, I insist," she pushed the purse back into his hands. "Keep the bag, too; I have more like it." In an attempt to imitate Elizveta's frying pan threat, Liechtenstein faked a cough. Vash immediately took the money and hastily pocketed it before checking on his sister.

"Pretty soon he'll start calling you a bad influence," Roderich whispered to his wife.

"I taught her well," she responded with a smile.

Arthur looked on, somewhat moved by the scene. Never in his time working for him had Vash mentioned a sister, much less that she was ill.

"Tell me, spirit," he started, "Just what is wrong with the child?"

"I prefer being called Tino," the spirit corrected. "And she's been sick for several months now – the doctors know how to cure it, but the medicine is expensive and growing ever more so. The wages you paid Vash were just enough to feed them both and still pay for the house, and he's too stubborn to accept help most of the time."

"I see…" Arthur replied. He wished he could say that if Vash had told him, that he would have given him a bigger raise. But Arthur knew better – before the events that had transpired thus far, he would have given Vash the same cold response that he had given to the charitable Dane. "But then without it-"

"If things don't change soon," Tino continued, "Her chances of survival are dim." Arthur observed the scene with moderate concern.

"If he freaks out over a fake cough," he mused, "Vash would be a wreck if anything extremely serious happened…"

"Come with me," Tino beckoned. "There's one more thing I have to show you before the hour's through." Their surroundings changed yet again, but this time they were back in Arthur's bedroom. Tino looked at Arthur with tired eyes and a weary smile. Flanking him on each side now, however, were two small children dressed in rags. One, on the left, was a little brown-haired girl in white with eyes that seemed to stare off into space, despite being closed. The other, on the right, was a boy of the same age as the girl, with blond hair wearing clothes of dark blue. His blue eyes were hardened with numerous hardships. In fact… he actually looked like Ludwig did as a child.

"These two," Tino pointed first to the girl and then to the boy, "Are Ignorance and Want. Beware them both." As he said so, the children began to fade into fine snow and blew away with the wind. Soon Hana Tamago followed, and then Tino's sack. As Tino himself began to disappear in the same manner, he left Arthur with these last words:

"The next spirit might be a bit intimidating. But outside of this story he isn't so bad…"

The clock struck two, and Tino was but a flurry of snow.

A/N: gwah. D: if I got anyone OOC, I apologize greatly. And also I'm sorry this chapter took longer than the others. Depending on how much I have to put into that paper I'm going to be assigned tomorrow evening, the next chapter should be out fairly quickly.


	5. Chris'ms Y't T' Come

A/N: FINALLY! I am DONE with finals! And I need not worry about math ever again!

… I wish. But at this rate I may have to wait until next fall to take English 102 unless my scholarship supports summer classes.

But enough about me! Sorry for the delay, but here be chapter 5 of A Hetalian Christmas Carol. Next chapter will be the last!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or A Christmas Carol. Nor do I own Sherlock Holmes (referenced briefly in this chapter – and I apologize if this is the wrong time period for that. I know A Christmas Carol was set sometime in the 1840's, but the Sherlock books I'm not so sure).

OOC/SCREWUP WARNING: I think you know the drill by now. However, I probably failed at typing Berwald's grunt-speak and Feliks' valley girl dialect. Other than that, this last warning I bear: tragic character death is tragic, and I don't mean Iggy.

The next spirit didn't even show itself before Arthur was whisked away from his bedroom again. He blinked, and he was in front of an old, run-down mansion one dark, cloudy Christmas morning in what he presumed to be the as-of-then future. Standing in front of the mansion were three men that Arthur had seen in passing in the city – two of them, however, he knew all too well.

"So London's loneliest man is finally dead," Francis, now fully grown with stubble that wasn't even enough to be deemed a five o'clock shadow, remarked to his companions. "Quite a shame, really. Didn't leave any of his estate to anyone, not even his brother." He shook his head. "Still, murder? I don't think anyone hated him that much."

"I say more for us then, aru," a Chinese man with long, smooth black hair tied into a ponytail replied, looking at the manor with greedy eyes. Upon taking a better look, Arthur noticed something familiar about the place, but where he had seen it before escaped him. "And it's Natalia: she'll kill anything."

"So I take it all, da?" the tallest of the three, a blond Russian man, beamed with a dangerous glint in his violet eyes. The Chinese man tried to protest, but was met with a cold stare and a low growl of "kolkolkolkol…" The two men ran to another part of the small, unkempt courtyard.

Ivan Braginski. The one person that Arthur genuinely feared. That all of London feared, really… well, all but his sisters, but that's a different story.

"Are you sure it wasn't him instead of his crazy sister?" Francis whispered to his companion.

"… I just don't know aru." Just as the last "aru" was uttered, a woman with long, flowing hair donning a blood-stained blue dress and white apron came running from down the street. In the end, Ivan was the one left running.

"… On second thought," the Frenchman corrected himself. "Best not to question Holmes' verdict."

"Wow," Arthur stated. "Poor chap, dying by Natalia's wrath… I wonder who it was."

When he felt a cold presence looming behind him, the Englishman turned with a jolt, fearing that, as Peter had been the first spirit that this one would turn out to be Ivan.

What he saw instead, was a cloaked figure all in black, wearing a hood that hid all but the man's mouth, set in a perpetually neutral expression. Was he faced now with the Grim Reaper?

The spirit pointed a flesh-covered finger (much to Arthur's relief) in the direction of the door of the manor. A strong wind pushed Arthur in through the doors, and into a small bedroom on the first floor. There he saw none other than Kiku, packing up all he could at a breakneck pace, occasionally darting his eyes around the room and cowering in fear at the slightest sound before returning to his packing. As soon as he was done, he took his sole suitcase, broke open the window, and fled the scene. Arthur looked down at the shattered shards of glass now on the floor, the spirit standing behind him again with that same ice-cold aura.

"Robbery…?" Arthur questioned in partial disbelief. "Kiku is SO fired."

"'S not steal'n 'f 'ts 'is th'ngs," a low voice replied.

"What?" Arthur asked the spirit, assuming the voice to have been his. Another blink and the setting changed again. This time, they were in a part of London with which the Englishman was less than familiar. The residents on this side of town seemed relatively well off, at least enough to own an apartment in the tall buildings that lined each side of the street. The street itself was rather quiet – everyone inside spending Christmas with their families, Arthur assumed – except for two men walking down one side next to one another. One had shoulder-length, straight blond hair and green eyes, and… quite honestly, were it not for his pants, Arthur would have assumed the man to be a woman. Walking beside the blond, listening to him chat away, was a young, slightly taller brown-haired man. Arthur identified the latter as Toris Lorinaitis, Vash's runner-up for the assistant job.

"So, like, that seriously sucks about your boss getting murdered and all," the blond stated, "But at least he won't be working you on holidays now."

"That's not the point, Feliks," Toris replied. "So what if he was a bad boss – income was income. Now that he's gone though, and Alfred isn't hiring… I'm pretty sure you know what that means." Feliks playfully slapped his companion on the back and laughed.

"Come on, Toris! Like I'd let you go back to working for Braginski! If he even tries to talk to you, I'll, like, give him a beat down, like to the max!" Toris weakly smiled and laughed a bit himself.

"Well, it's the thought that counts."

"No, I'm like, totally serious," Feliks protested. "I can, like, so beat him up! Or I can just call up the police! Scotland Yard can, like, take care of him like that!"

"They can't even keep Natalia in the asylum…" Toris pointed out, his voice lowering ever so slightly.

"Like you have any problem with that, mister I-have-a-crush-on-a-psycholady."

"I told you not to talk about it!" Toris retorted, his cheeks growing redder and redder.

"I'm kidding, gosh," Feliks blew it off. "Still, that's like a little weird that you like her."

"What did I just tell you?"

Arthur was speechless. Toris was crushing on Natalia? That blond Pole thought he could take on Ivan – that Scotland Yard could contain him, even if he did commit any viable, _provable_ crime? Was any of that conversation relevant to this story at all?! The spirit stood behind him again, aura unchanging. He mumbled something that Arthur couldn't comprehend, and another blink led to another scene.

The setting now was a bit farther from foreign and a bit closer to familiar, but still in between the two. They were in Vash's house, at the same spot where he and Tino were but an hour before atop the stairs. Replacing the emptiness of this place before was a thick anxiety, as Vash ran into his house and darted upstairs, not even bothering to take off his coat. Forgetting that he was practically a ghost in these visions, Arthur tried to get out of the way, but failed as the Swiss man ran right through him and threw a door open. Arthur tentatively followed, knowing by the haggard look on Vash's face that this could not be good.

And indeed, it was not – unless you're a masochist and enjoy the sight of a girl on her deathbed. Liechtenstein lay there, her skin nearly as white as the bed sheets and her pillow and hair sopping wet with perspiration. Her eyes were closed, and every breath was shallow and seemed as though it could very well be her last. Elizveta sat on the poor girl's left, glancing at her and then at Vash. The look she gave him was mingled with relief and deep concern.

"She's still holding on," Elizveta said quietly, "But there's not much time." He nodded in understanding as he took a seat at his sister's right, taking her hot, fevered hand in his. Feeling the action, she opened her eyes and looked at her brother with glassy green eyes. He smiled, and she returned his with a small one of her own.

"You came," she whispered.

"Of course I did," Vash replied. "Roderich's on his way with Dr. Wa –" she shook her head with what little strength she had.

"It won't matter," she told him.

"What do you mean it won't matter?!" he protested. "You can't give up! You'll get better, I pro – " he was interrupted this time by Liechtenstein raising their linked hands, as if to hush him with a finger to his lips. Like when he would comfort her in their childhood days.

"It's alright," she said.

"Liechtenstein…"

"I'll see you someday in Heaven, right Brother…? With Mom and Dad?"

"I…." Who was Vash to tell if he would be saved or condemned? But for his beloved sister's sake, what else was he supposed to do? "… Sure."

"I'll be waiting for you, then…" Vash noticed her grip on his hand, which was weak to begin with, loosen entirely as she exhaled her last breath and her eyes closed for the last time. The heat from the fever quickly dissipated as the last of Liechtenstein's energy did the same. The tears that Vash had been holding back were fighting ever harder to break out, but he fought fiercer still to contain them. The room was silent. Elizveta gave Vash a sympathetic glance, to which Vash merely glanced back for a moment, then turned to the corpse – no, he refused to call it – her, his sister - that. Not even that lasted long before he locked his eyes to the floor, clenching his fists on his lap. It took everything he had not to break down right there.

"Vash, I'm so sorry," Elizveta said. He ignored her, now shaking. She stood up and walked to the door of the room. "You know, if you ever need anything –"

"I don't need your help," he replied through gritted teeth. "Just…" one lone tear escaped his eye. "Just go." The woman followed suit, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Downstairs, a knock came at the door just as Elizveta opened it to leave. Roderich stood on the other side, his hand raised in a fist to knock again. An elderly doctor stood behind him.

"How is she?" Roderich asked, though with one look into his wife's eyes he knew the answer.

The loud sobbing heard from inside removed all doubt.

Arthur was left speechless. Such emotions… he hadn't seen, much less felt, the way Vash must have been feeling at that moment in who knows how long. Sincerely caring for another human being, to the point where it would kill you inside to see that person die…. The spirit appeared behind him yet another time.

"Y' ready?"

"For what –" but Arthur blinked again. They now stood in a cemetery. But it was not the main city cemetery. It wasn't to say the cemetery was small, by any means, but many of the names on the tombstones were those of the city's most unsavory lot: robbers, murderers, and those who may not have been bad people, necessarily, but whose family couldn't afford a proper burial; or they had no family.

"No…" Arthur stammered. "She couldn't have been- Vash would've never – "

"'S not 'er who's b'ried 'ere," the spirit mumbled again in his same low voice as he pointed to a headstone in a distant corner of the cemetery. Arthur walked there, past every cracking and neglected stone, to one that was in no better condition than the others – it was worse off, in fact. Fresh snow covered the ivy that had been frozen onto it so many times it had become part of the structure itself. Arthur dusted it off to read the name that was there to read.

What he saw caused him to double-take. How could he have not realized? Kiku wasn't robbing anyone, he was packing his own things. That mansion wasn't strange to him at all. The fortune Ivan and the others sought, the poor man murdered at the hands of the insanity that Ivan was forced to call his sister… it could have been no one else.

_Arthur Kirkland_.

Frightened out of his wits, Arthur staggered back and slipped on the ice, the spirit breaking his fall. He jumped from the shock, and got a good glance at the specter's face.

He was faced with a cold, hard glare from eyes of ice.

"Please, spirit," Arthur was pleading now, on his hands and knees, while staring into that cold face. "Is there anything to be done to change this? Anything at all?"

From the spirit came no response. The ground began to shake, and a crack formed in front of the tombstone. It opened into a dark abyss, fiery hands reaching out and grabbing Arthur by the ankles.

"No, no, no!" he begged, clinging to the spirit's ankles. "I'll change my ways, pardon all who owe me more than they can pay, rehire Vash, I'll do anything! Anything!" Still no response from the stoic spirit. Soon his grip weakened, and he was forced to release his grip on the ankles as he clawed desperately at the ground, grabbing on to anything that might keep him from falling into the pit.

"Joinin' me in hell after all, eh Kirkland?" A sinister voice echoed from the deep.

"_**NOOOOO!**_"

"Arthur-san, are you alright?"

Arthur's own eyes snapped open, finding himself in his room again, sitting upward in his bed. Kiku stood at the door of the bedroom. He could barely believe it. He was home.

A/N: gah, I'm sososososo sorry! This chapter even felt rushed to me, I'm sure it must be much worse to the readers. Forgive me for my failure…


	6. Can't Really Call it an Epilogue

A/N: Here it is: the final stretch, the last hurdle...

I bring you the conclusion of A Hetalian Christmas Carol. And since I don't want to ruin the effect of the ending with an end-author's note, I apologize now for any fail in this chapter – of which there may be a lot. **shot**

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Especially not the Caramel Dansen. Or Peter Pan. 'Nuff said.

OOC/SCREWUP WARNING: happy!Iggy alert – and he's not mad, much as Kiku might think he is.

"Kiku?" Arthur asked.

"Yes?" was the man's one-word reply.

"What day is it?"

"It's December 25th." Christmas Day. Arthur read the clock on the wall. 8 am. There was still time… "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, of course. I just had the strangest dream last night." A dream? Can he even call it that? With that, Kiku gave a nod and left to prepare breakfast.

"God bless ye merry gentle-men, let none of you dismay…"

Arthur looked out the window to find the source of the caroling – conveniently enough, Peter's little blond friend from the day before. He walked down the street below the window pulling a sled behind him, clad in his warmest winter clothes. What was his name again? Arthur couldn't remember for the life of him.

"Lo, you there!" He shouted out after lifting the window open. The boy looked up and jumped in fright, preparing to run again as he had the previous day. "No no, it's alright," Arthur reassured him before he ran. "Do you know if the prize turkey still up for sale?"

"T-the really b-big one, sir?" the boy stuttered in reply.

"Yes, yes, the one about as big as you are!" Arthur replied eagerly.

"I-I don't know, sir."

"Could you check for me? I'll pay you about three pence for your efforts."

"Y-yes sir!" and off went Raivis – yes, that's his name! Running again with a rabbit's speed, his little wooden sled trailing behind him. In the meanwhile, Arthur opened up his wardrobe and selected his best slacks and his favorite dress shirt to wear for the day. It was Christmas, after all – why shouldn't he look his absolute best? Within the time it took for him to change, Raivis had returned with the news.

"Well, is it there?" Arthur asked eagerly.

"Yes, it is!" Raivis replied between his efforts to catch his breath from all of the running. "You're in luck, Mr. Kirkland!" Indeed he was.

"Meet me at the front of my house then, and I'll give you payment plus the money to buy the turkey!" Little Raivis nodded and rushed in the direction of the manor's front. Arthur ran excitedly out the door of his bedroom and to the stairs. It was so long since he had given charitable service to another that he had until then forgotten how good – nay, how _right _it felt to so do. Kiku began to climb up the stairs with a plate of food.

"Happy Christmas, Kiku!" Arthur declared, his face shining with a smile akin to that which his brother was infamous for. Kiku looked up, more than a little shocked as Arthur leapt down the stairway, often skipping a step or two or even three as he only gave Kiku a moment to set the tray down before picking him up in a ginormous hug and twirling down the rest of the way – leaving the poor oatmeal to be forgotten. Kiku pulled away, frightened as he could be, and ran out of the house screaming at the top of his lungs.

Raivis stood outside the gate of the Kirkland manor, waiting anxiously for Mr. Kirkland to come out. Instead, a small Japanese man hurriedly opened the door and ran in his direction, throwing the gate open as though he were escaping from a force far worse than Mr. Braginski.

"HE'S MAD! KIRKLAND-SAN HAS GONE MAD! OR HE'S COMPLETELY DRUNK, BUT MORE LIKELY HE'S GONE MAD!"

Raivis quickly jumped out of the way and hid behind part of the gate, shivering as if he wasn't as warmly bundled up as he was. Not too long after, Arthur came out from the same doors and with the three pence in his hand, beckoned Raivis forward. Enticed by the money, but still wary, Raivis slowly came. Arthur gave him the money, which Raivis quickly pocketed, and gave him the exact amount for which the prize turkey was being sold.

"Can I trust you with fetching this for me?"

"Y-Yes, Sir," Raivis replied, and ran off again out of sight. Arthur waited, far more patiently than usual, with another three pence already in hand for when the boy returned. Sooner than either of them thought, Raivis returned, this time pulling a large, frozen turkey on his little wooden sled. Arthur gave him the other three pence and posed a rather interesting pair of questions.

"Now do you know where the Edelsteins live, by chance? Or the Zwinglis?" Raivis shook his head at both names. "Well we just need to find someone who does, won't we?"

"Y-yes, sir…" Raivis replied. "But why –"

"There's no time for that now! The sooner we get that turkey where it needs to be, the better!"

So they searched the whole town over in search of an acquaintance of one or both of the families in question – or Arthur was prepared to do so, in any case. But to his luck, a familiar blue-eyed blond German came walking around the corner just as they were about to set out on such a hare-brained quest.

"Ludwig! How good it is to see you!" Arthur greeted the man cheerily as soon as they came within decent speaking distance.

"Oh, _guten morgen_, Mr. Kirkland…" he replied, attempting to suppress his overall surprise. The last time he had seen the man outside his office, after all, was at his brother's funeral. "How is your business going?" 'Twas all he could think to say.

"Never mind that," Arthur dismissed the thought, much to Ludwig's astonishment. "I have something for Roderich and his wife, but it's been so long I don't even know where he lives anymore. Could you be so kind as to direct me to his house?" Ludwig's eyes widened. Was this indeed Arthur Kirkland… _giving_ something other than a foreclosure?

"Yes, of course," Ludwig finally said. "He still lives a few blocks down from here, I believe."

"Ah, that's what I thought," Arthur replied. "I just needed some confirmation." He turned to Raivis. "Can you deliver the turkey to this address, then?" He took out a pen and a sheet of paper and wrote down the directions to hand to the boy. Raivis took the paper, nodded, and zipped again out of sight. That time, he didn't return. The two adults stood in that same spot for a short time – Arthur still inwardly relishing in the warm fuzzies of selfless service, and Ludwig wondering if there was anything wrong with his late brother's partner in crime business associate.

"Well then, I'll see you at Alfred's party tonight?" This perplexed Ludwig even more than he was to begin with.

"… _Ja,_ I suppose," the German answered tentatively. "And speaking of which, I have some things to do before then. I'll… see you there?" Before the Englishman could answer to the affirmative, Ludwig continued on his way at an awkwardly fast pace.

Arthur continued throughout the day with a smile on his face and utterly befuddling everyone who knew him. He only went to his office to cross out the "open" on his "we're open on Christmas Day" sign and replace it with a large, bold-lettered, and underlined multiple times "CLOSED." In passing the Danish charity advocate from the previous day, he donated a rather large sum, all while taking back all of the things he said the previous day. "Mere excuses from a bitter man," he called them.

"And not a farthing less," he told the man as he continued onward; actually _singing_ with the carolers he passed.

The Dane just stood completely speechless, as many another had that morning, before shouting an enthusiastic word of thanks. He wrote down Arthur's name with the amount named and did a little victory dance on the sidewalk, fist pumps, booty-shaking, Caramel Dansen-ing and all. Norway maintained his same blank expression, mumbling something that sounded to his Danish friend like "Nii-san's enthusiasm is annoying."

"I told you he was different today," Raivis told Peter, who witnessed the entire scene from a distance… and was gawking at the Dane's off-beat dance mash-up.

"I still think he's lost it," Peter retorted.

"Hopefully not in the way that Mr. Braginski did a few years ago…" Raivis replied nervously.

THWACK!

Payback, it would appear, was Peter's lot that day.

"Just some friendly fire for you," Arthur said with a laugh in his voice. Peter, meanwhile, was forming some slushy vengeance of his own.

THWACK!

Rather than punishing him in the way he had the day before, Arthur merely threw more snowballs, Peter doing the same until an all-out one-on-one snowball fight had broken out on that London street. Those who normally would have reported such action as a public nuisance instead stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. The children who passed by with sleds and new Christmas presents from that morn joined in, all siding with Peter, while Arthur stood solo save it be for one fair lady and a Spaniard aiding him. Raivis and the other children not involved were cheering Peter and the others on, while childhood acquaintances of Arthur and his team were undecided.

"Antonio?" Arthur asked when he noticed the male of his two allies. "What brings you here?"

"I was just passing by and thought you could use some help," came Antonio's beaming reply. "How about yourself? I've never seen you in a snow war this big since we were _niños_!"

"Then you weren't around on our first Christmas together!" the woman replied. Arthur saw her and nearly missed his next target.

"SEYCHELLES?!"

"You never did well outnumbered," she stated matter-of-factly. Soon more of Arthur's former friends and acquaintances joined, including Toris, Feliks, and even the Frenchman we all know and either love or hate.

"I never said I needed _your_ help, frog," Arthur scorned Francis.

"Come now, _c'est Nöel, mon ami~_" Francis replied merrily.

"Alright now, move along," an authoritative voice commanded as the crowd dispersed. The war slowed as a chorus of disappointed cries came from the children.

"Aw man, we were having fun!"

"Why does Constable Cuba have to ruin everything?"

"Like, not cool man! Totally not cool!" That, my friend, was actually Feliks. But the other two came from the mouths of the children on Team Peter.

"Because it disturbs the peace," said constable replied upon hearing the second comment. As all the children went their separate ways, most of Team Arthur still remained. At seeing Francis in the fray, and to some extent Feliks, Constable Cuba was not surprised. But when he saw the bushy-browed Englishman among them, he was utterly shocked.

"Mr. Kirkland!" He exclaimed in shock and disappointment. "Such behavior I'd expect from your brother any day – I'm surprised he isn't here now – but _you?!_ Acting so _childish?!"_

"Don't we all sometimes?" Arthur replied. "Though I do apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused. I'm rather rusty at this Christmas spirit thing, so I'm sure I must've gotten carried away…"

"I'll say," everyone replied in some way or other. Seychelles went so far as to deem "rusty" a severe understatement.

"But we all had fun here, _non?_" Francis asked, placing an arm around the shoulders of as many of his teammates as he could – for which Seychelles nearly smacked him.

The day continued with only a word of warning from the constable, and later that evening, a pleasant surprise at the biggest Christmas party in London – short of whatever banquet the Queen might have held that night, anyway.

"Hello?" a tall, pale-blonde maid opened the door of Alfred's home. She there saw her employer's brother, casually checking the time on his pocket watch. "Oh, Mr. Kirkland, what a surprise..." the woman remarked. Like Ludwig, and so many others that day, she was so surprised to see him of all people there that she was at a loss for words.

"I believe if this is correct I'm not too late for the party?" he said, looking her in the eyes with a surprisingly charming smile.

"Of course!" she replied. "I'll let Alfred know you're here, in the meantime if you can wait in the foyer –"

"Take as much time as you need," Arthur reassured her as he stepped inside and hung his coat on the nearest available coat rack and stood patiently as the maid stepped into the other room. Varied reactions could be heard from the other side, a loud "Yes!" the most prominently heard. Soon after, an even more enthusiastic than usual Alfred came running out of the room, eager to behold what he had been told with his own eyes. The two brothers stood silent for several minutes, each taking in the other's presence. After establishing that he was in fact there, Alfred gave his brother the biggest bear hug he had given anyone in ages.

"I can't believe it," Alfred declared. "You actually came!"

"Yes, yes, I'm here Alfred, now can you please let me go?!" Arthur replied, trying with all his might not to suffocate in his brother's grasp. Alfred let him go and Arthur gasped for air, but quickly jabbed his brother in the stomach with the nearest available elbow. They laughed together for the first time in years.

"By the way," Alfred said, "Peter told me about that snowball fight. Niice._"_

"I guess so, huh?" Arthur replied. "I only wish I had the sense not to start a whole war right there in the street." Alfred laughed. Changed or not, Arthur was still Arthur.

"You know, I really missed you." Arthur almost asked what his brother meant, but then remembered his comment from the previous day in his office. He merely smiled in reply.

"Look who's here, guys!" Alfred declared as they finally entered the room. Everyone that Arthur had seen with Tino was there – Ludwig, the Italian brothers, Antonio, a man who resembled Alfred that Arthur couldn't name at the moment, the Asians, and even Kiku. The responses to his presence varied, with Antonio and others involved in the snowball fight recalling said event, the darker-haired Italian who sat with Antonio simply glaring in his direction, but overall ignoring him; the younger getting up to hug him, and Ludwig attempting to prevent further damage that could have been done. Yao was as surprised as anyone, Taiwan smiled politely while her companion said nothing, and Kiku whispered to the maid while nervously darting his eyes around the room – more often than not landing on Arthur.

Dinner that night ended on a positive note, with Arthur insisting that the party next year be held at his home as he left early with another party to attend.

Elizveta dropped the plate she was holding; thankfully empty, when she saw Arthur at the door.

"What in Mozart's na – ARTHUR KIRKLAND?!" Roderich was rendered speechless when he came to the door to see what was amiss. Even Vash stood up and came from the table on hearing that.

"I didn't know I was so popular," Arthur said jokingly, earning a bop on the head from his former employee.

"If you're calling me in for work," Vash growled, "I've already told you I quit."

"Not at all," Arthur reassured, ducking to avoid another blow. "I'm actually asking you to come back – " he wasn't able to avoid the punch that came this time, nearly knocking Arthur backwards. "… As my partner." Vash stopped momentarily, gawking at his former boss as if he were wearing green tights and told him to sprinkle on some pixie dust and fly.

"What's the catch?" he asked in suspicion.

"Nothing at all. The business would be renamed to remove Gilbert's name, and replace it with yours."

"I expect the pay to at least be split fifty-fifty."

"Of course," he replied with a smile. "Now with your permission," he directed this to Roderich and his wife, "Perhaps we should all come inside from the cold." They all did so, with a formal introduction to Liechtenstein Arthur felt long overdue.

"Seriously, Vash, why didn't you tell me you had a sister?" Arthur asked.

"You never asked and it was none of your beeswax."

"Brother, be nice," Liechtenstein corrected him. "He just offered you a much higher position, after all – and after you walked out and quit, too! We should be grateful he even gave us this turkey." Vash grumbled a begrudging agreement as his sister thanked Arthur for his generosity.

The dinner continued, with Arthur skipping out on much of the food until the women brought in what Elizveta bragged – and Arthur agreed – to be the best apple pie in all of London.

"I guess we did something good after all," Gilbert remarked to Gilbird the Awesome as they stood against the wall observing, this time invisible to all. The bird cheeped in agreement. "… But man does that pie look good." Though he knew it to be an illusion, the spirit almost felt his burden grow ever so lighter.

As they all made another toast, with cider in every glass, Liechtenstein reiterated the famous words: "God bless us, everyone."


End file.
